


Closer.

by mortysmithh



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Biting, Blood, Blood As Lube, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, this isn't meant to be sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 06:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15455742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortysmithh/pseuds/mortysmithh
Summary: And, really, it’s not always so bad, right? He cums every time, whether it’s from his grandfather nailing into his prostate so hard it burns his soul up and he sees white with every shaky, shallow breath, or from a rough, calloused hand jacking his half limp teenage cock off with a dry hand and alcohol-fueled belches being uttered into his ear about how he’s a nasty, dirty little sinner with no future aside from as his grandfather’s cocksleeve.[Noncon RickMorty; extremely dark, not meant to be sexy]





	Closer.

_You let me violate you_  
  
It’s not rape. It really isn’t. It’s not rape, and that’s what makes it so _difficult_ for Morty. If it _were_ rape, at least he could hate it fully, commit to the hatred, fight against it rather than allow himself to be consumed like he is every night.  
  
_You let me desecrate you_  
  
Or maybe it is rape. Maybe it is, and his only justification for it _not_ being rape is that he has some complicated, _fucked up_ emotions about their entire arrangement, and he’d rather just go along with it than to be forced to think about just _why_ he’s so eager for it to continue, for it to stop, for it to last forever and for it to end _right now_.  
  
_You let me penetrate you_  
  
They’ve never really... _made love_. The first time was a mistake, really. Steamy kisses, adrenaline-fueled grinding, hearts racing so fast their shirts were lifting up from the _thrill_ of engaging in an act so, _so_ taboo. They should’ve stopped when Rick yanked down both his own pants and Morty’s, shoved in without so much as a second thought for the kid’s safety.

 _You let me complicate you_  
  
Rick was expecting an _adult_ , and by fucking god, Morty was going to _prove_ he was one, at the age of fifteen years old, in a dark, oil-scented garage, with his grandfather hunched over his teary-eyed form, thrusting and grunting and coated in blood of at least fourteen different shades of _murder_.  
  
_Help me_  
  
The screams were never heard. Of course they weren’t.  
  
_I broke apart my insides_  
  
He couldn’t walk for almost two weeks afterwards. When asked, he’d offer up a weak smile that never really reached his eyes, making up a different story every time about how he fell off the swings, how he got bullied, how he fell asleep in the classroom in a funny position, don’t you know how hard the chairs are at school?  
  
_Help me_  
  
The nightmares wouldn’t stop.  
  
_I've got no soul to sell_  
  
He doesn’t know if he wants them to stop, because isn’t it better to wake up, covered in freezing cold sweat and the stench of _fear_ , knowing you’re alive and it was real, than to fool yourself into thinking that it was just your imagination, nothing but a bad daydream?  
  
_Help me_  
  
Some nights, when it’s late and not even ~~his rapist~~  Rick is awake, he wonders whether or not he wishes it was that easy, to just pretend it didn’t happen.  
  
_The only thing that works for me_  
  
The second time was only a little better. The second time, there was blood and a chunk of an alien’s liver as lubricant, and maybe just a hint of spit from the back of Morty’s throat to ease the _painful_ stretch of Rick fucking into him with all the gentleness of an infuriated lion.  
  
_Help me get away from myself_  
  
It hurt. It hurt so, so bad. It hurt more than almost everything else he’s ever felt. _Almost_ everything.  
  
_I want to fuck you like an animal_  
  
And, really, it’s not always so bad, right? He cums every time, whether it’s from his grandfather nailing into his prostate so hard it burns his soul up and he sees white with every shaky, shallow breath, or from a rough, calloused hand jacking his half limp teenage cock off with a dry hand and alcohol-fueled belches being uttered into his ear about how he’s a nasty, dirty little sinner with no future aside from as his grandfather’s _cocksleeve_.  
  
_I want to feel you from the inside_  
  
He cums, and...and maybe, maybe that means it isn’t rape.  
  
_I want to fuck you like an animal_  
  
Thinking hurts his mind too much, makes him wish he’d had the guts to ask Rick to shoot him with the memory eraser the first time they’d fucked. Sometimes, he can still feel the icy-hot bruises on his hips and thighs and the inner parts of his asscheeks, can remember the _hot hot_ breath on the back of his neck as he’d been stretched too far too fas _t oh oh stop please it hurts Rick I-I don’t want it-_  
  
_My whole existence is flawed_  
  
Thinking hurts his mind too much.  
  
_You get me closer to god_  
  
Thinking hurts too much.  
  
_You can have my isolation_  
  
Thinking hurts.  
  
_You can have the hate that it brings_  
  
One night, at exactly 2:56AM, when he wakes up with a muffled shriek into the blanket (he’s been sleeping facedown ever since the night terrors started; a preventative measure of sorts so that nobody asks any questions he’s ~~not able~~  unwilling to answer), he doesn’t curl up and sob into his knees. He stands up, like a zombie, tears streaking down his haunted visage before he practically collapses into the chair that had been tucked under his desk. His face, illuminated by the artificial light of his computer screen, remains dull, eyes glazed and unseeing as he opens a browser in incognito mode, goes to rubhub.com and browses through the selection of video and picture pornography available on the website.  
  
_You can have my absence of faith_  
  
He doesn’t sleep that night. The small trashcan in his room is overflowing with crumpled up tissues - only _some_ of which are stained with semen - by the time sunlight filters through his UFO curtains.  
  
_You can have my everything_  
  
The third time they fuck, Morty asks that Rick spank him, tug his hair a little. Says he’s developed some new kinks. The smile Rick gives him in return makes his stomach flip in ways he ~~doesn’t like~~  isn’t sure how to feel about.  
  
_Help me_  
  
He screams loudly that night, doesn’t give a fuck who can hear anymore. He knows nobody can hear, but a tiny, _tiny_ and mostly silenced part of his mind prays that the sound-cancelling machine taped to the door malfunctions, that someone in the house can hear him crying out Rick’s name in a mixture of pain and _regret_.  
  
_Tear down my reason_  
  
When he leaves the garage, his eyes are red and puffy, he can’t taste anything other than thick, mucousy spit and blood, and his body aches more than he thought possible. He came three times that session; a new record.  
  
_Help me_  
  
Showering is the most painful part. It always is, and yet, it’s also the most gratifying thing in the world after every time ~~Rick rapes him~~  he and Rick fuck. It’s like he’s washing away ~~the feeling of being dirty dirty dirty wrong _wrong_ help me please I don’t like this it hurts i _t hurts please stop it it hurts I don’t like it_~~  all of the sins of the world, like he’s shedding a blanket of weighted regrets as he washes away Rick’s vodka-tainted spit and traces of his own blood.  
  
_It's your sex I can smell_  
  
He stops counting how many times ~~Rick uses him~~  they fuck, after that third time.  
  
_Help me_  
  
The nightmares never stop. If anything, they keep getting worse over time, but he’s grown pretty numb to it. Not much phases him anymore, and if a dream happens to get to him, all he has to do is find yet another fetish on rubhub to jack off to ~~while sobbing~~  to forget the reason he got up in the first place. He likes to think it’s his own little method of memory-erasure.  
  
_You make me perfect_  
  
He never stops spiraling, never stops using porn as his own, fucked-up method of coping. He gets into more fetishes, more kinks, more chains and whips and leashes and animal ears and dildos and buttplugs and enemas and watersports and-  
  
_Help me become somebody else_  
  
When Rick, one day, suggests knifeplay, there’s a surge of that cold _fear_ in his belly, just as strong as the first time they’d...been intimate.  
  
_I want to fuck you like an animal_  
  
It feels wrong from the start. This isn’t sexy, he doesn’t like this, he never liked _any_ of this, he hates pain, he’s terrified of it, he just wants Rick to use lube _one fucking time_ , he-  
  
_I want to feel you from the inside_  
  
It isn’t rape if the Morty wants to be dead, bloody and broken on the rough cement floor of Rick’s garage.  
  
_I want to fuck you like an animal_  
  
It isn’t rape if the Morty wants to be dead, bloody and on the floor of Rick’s garage.  
  
_My whole existence is flawed_  
  
It isn’t rape if the Morty wants to be dead, bloody and on the floor.  
  
_You get me closer to god_  
  
It isn’t rape if the Morty is dead, bloody and on the floor.  
  
_Through every forest above the trees_  
  
It isn’t rape if the Morty is dead.  
  
_Within my stomach scraped off my knees_  
  
His last thoughts as he fades away...  
  
_I drink the honey inside your hive_  
  
Well, thinking too much has always made his mind hurt. Why should he start now, in the last breaths of his life?  
  
_You are the reason I stay alive_  
  
It isn’t rape...right?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't have to say this but: My thoughts/feelings/etc. on any and every topic covered in this fanfic are NOT the same as the characters' thoughts/feelings/etc. on any and every topic covered in this fanfic! 
> 
> My Tumblr's mortysmithh, hit me up and yell at me to write actual sweet stories instead of constantly uploading edgy shit


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